


Goals

by Marsalias



Category: Danny Phantom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clockwork's questionable decision-making skills, Gen, dumbledore's questionable decision-making skills, get rekt umbridge, jazz is a ghost, no on-screen deaths, not super finished but I'm not sure I'll add to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsalias/pseuds/Marsalias
Summary: Dear Albus,I hope this letter finds you well.  I know these are trying and troubling times, both here and in Britain, and part of me hesitates to ask this of you for exactly that reason.  But, as ever, circumstances leave us with few viable options.News of what happened to Amity Park this Spring has spread far and wide at this point, so I won’t waste your time repeating what you already know.  What is not common knowledge, however, is that after the dust settled, the Aurors assigned to the case encountered several irregularities, not the least of which was a disturbingly high number of completely untrained young witches and wizards...
Comments: 53
Kudos: 464





	Goals

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for puns-are-great-and-so-is-danny on tumblr!

_Dear Albus,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know these are trying and troubling times, both here and in Britain, and part of me hesitates to ask this of you for exactly that reason. But, as ever, circumstances leave us with few viable options._

_News of what happened to Amity Park this Spring has spread far and wide at this point, so I won’t waste your time repeating what you already know. What is not common knowledge, however, is that after the dust settled, the Aurors assigned to the case encountered several irregularities, not the least of which was a disturbingly high number of completely untrained young witches and wizards._

_Once news of them gets out, I have no doubt the official line will be that they simply fell through the cracks, that, unfortunately, our spells for finding young magically-gifted persons are imperfect, that the nature of Amity Park obscured them from view. This, I fear, is a lie._

_I have no proof, but I believe they were deliberately removed from MACUSA files on account of their heritage. Albus, they are descended from Scourers._

_Perhaps that should be obvious, perhaps you had already guessed, considering the so-called reasoning behind the attack on Amity Park, the ideals those murderers professed, but I want to make myself and my own reasoning clear. Though it shames me deeply to say it, those children will not be safe at Ilvermorny, nor, I believe, will they be at any other school on this continent. For all the time that has passed, the Barebones Incident and its repercussions are too fresh in the minds of the people._

_There are seven of them. Well, seven that are of concern to me. The others have found or are seeking alternate arrangements. They have been staying at the school, for the time being. My colleagues and I have been attempting to give them a good grounding in magical basics. They would not come to you without foundations._

_Albus, I am begging you, accept these students into Hogwarts. I know this is a poor time. I have heard rumors, horrible, horrible rumors, about what is happening in Britain, about what happened at Hogwarts last year, but I fear for these children’s future, for their spirits, should they be forced into a place where they will be hated simply because of who their ancestors were._

_I know that even in Hogwarts they would be unable to escape that, but it would be less. Britain does not have the same history with Scourers that we do. More, for some of them, they would not be forced to walk in the same halls as the kin of their parents’ murderers._

_I will understand if you refuse, but I am relying on your compassion._

_Eagerly awaiting your reply,_

_Agilbert Fontaine_

_Headmaster of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_._

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at the letter from his old friend and colleague and sighed, his heart heavy. Agilbert was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Albus knew more about the situation in Amity Park than Agilbert assumed and likely was aware of things that Agilbert himself was not. 

For example, while the bulk of the group that had devastated and decimated Amity Park were indeed Magical Separatists and those looking for generations-late revenge on Scourers, their core leadership included American Death Eaters. 

He was also aware of the children Agilbert had mentioned. Most of the truly astonishing number of magically inclined children and _adults_ in Amity Park had chosen to find private tutors, go through correspondence or summer courses, or attend one of several small schools in North America that had quickly shuffled to make accommodations for them, on the condition that they hide their origins. 

The seven mentioned… Well. They didn’t really have those options. Either their names were too infamous, or they had no one to stay with while they puzzled through correspondence courses. Or both. 

And the _names._ Even here, some of them were well known.

Albus could understand why Agilbert had asked for his help.

But was it responsible to drag these children here while Voldemort was lurking in the shadows, building up his power base once again? To offer them safety he could not give? 

For those students already attending Hogwarts, it was one thing, they were already involved, simply by virtue of where they were born and where they lived. But those seven, in America, they would be—

Well. Not safe, perhaps, not with their parents killed and their home ravaged by hostile magic. But… farther away from the direct line of fire. 

But would they be? Beyond simply spreading fear and hate, was there another reason for the attack on Amity Park?

Albus heaved another sigh. 

At times he _enjoyed_ making decisions like this. Enjoyed power, knowledge, experience, those things people tended to mistake for wisdom, even though he had made more mistakes than anyone else he knew, and all the privileges and responsibilities that came with it, all the control over other peoples’ lives. This was a failing, a flaw, he knew, and time and time again it had come back to bite him. Karmic vengeance for being an old man who kept too many secrets. 

But times like these… In times like these, he despised the choices he was forced to make. 

“What troubles you, Albus? I can hear you sighing from the other room.”

Albus did not flinch or startle at the ghost’s approach and gently chiding tone. He looked up and smiled thinly at his former and present colleague. It seemed Cuthbert was having a good day. It was a pity so few students saw him at his best, and regarded his lessons as utterly boring, but Albus could never find the heart to replace him. Nor, sadly, the budget. _Damn_ the board of directors.

In answer, Albus turned the letter to face him. Cuthbert Binns was not a member of the Order, either, but he, like every other member of the Hogwarts staff, had been informed of what had transpired at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He would understand Albus’s dilemma. 

“Amity Park?” murmured Cuthbert, tapping the second paragraph. “That sounds… familiar. That—” Cuthbert broke off. 

If Albus had not spent significant portions of his life surrounded by ghosts, he would not have caught the subtle change in Cuthbert’s silvery complexion. 

“Perhaps you heard about the tragedy that happened there recently.” Which would be a first, even alive, Cuthbert had never really cared about anything that happened more recently than a hundred years ago, but not impossible.

“ _Tragedy?_ No.” Cuthbert shook his head. “Amity Park it’s—It is…” He trailed off, looking down at the letter, disturbed. “Albus, I have known you for many years. You have been here for many years, with all us ghosts, and… You know there are things the dead do not speak of to the living.”

Albus _did_ know. “Are you saying Amity Park is related to one of those things?” Could this be another attempt on Voldemort’s part to defeat death? His suspicion regarding horcruxes was bad enough, what that could mean for Harry… But if that man had _yet another_ way to stave off death…

Cuthbert dithered, and Albus wished fiercely that he could trust him enough to tell him about the Order, about Voldemort’s plans, to impress upon him how _important_ this was, how _vital_ that Albus know. 

But he couldn’t. It would just take one bad day, and one misplaced question from a student related to someone unfortunate, and everything would come tumbling down. 

No. Albus could not push him. 

“I—I must go,” said Cuthbert, halfway through the wall. “I have to look into something. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was not.

.

Albus had still not made a decision on Agilbert’s letter the next night. He had consulted Minerva, Severus, and the other teachers who were also in the Order on the matter, and had distracted himself with other, arguably more important, matters. 

(The eyes on Number Four Privet Drive, the movements in and out of the Malfoy residence, the horribly dangerous games Severus was playing, the master schedule for the next school year, the still-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts post, extra protections on Hogwarts’ boundaries, how to keep the Order safe…)

But he shouldn’t put something like this off for much longer. 

It would be much easier to deny Agilbert’s request. As tragic as the seven students’ circumstances were, they weren’t his responsibility, and he had so many. 

_Would you feel the same if the attackers had been Gellert’s people?_

_They’re children. Like your students. Like Adri—_

Albus closed his eyes and forced the tiny and vicious voice away, out of his mind.

“Sir Nicholas wants to speak to you,” said one of the portraits. 

Surprised, Albus turned his head to face the image of his predecessor. “Of course. Could you tell him he can come in?”

A few minutes later, the Gryffindor ghost floated through the wall. “Hello, Albus,” he said, the outlines of his figure crisper than they usually were, and continued before Albus could greet him, “I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but is it true? Seven students from Amity Park?”

“Cuthbert told you?”

“He told all of us,” said Sir Nicholas, shrugging in a way that made his head roll unsettlingly. “You should accept them.”

Albus raised his eyebrows. 

“There is a certain element of risk involved,” the ghost’s voice was careful, “but if they come to Hogwarts, there is a possibility that you may gain a powerful ally, and that…” Here, Sir Nicholas hesitated. “Certain ancient wrongs might be righted.”

“I suppose it is that second the ghosts are interested in?” asked Albus, both curious and, despite himself, amused. 

Sir Nicholas gave him a gentle smile. “Do not imagine that we are careless of your struggles, Albus, but many of us were long dead before you were born. We care, but… sometimes the picture in front of our eyes is not the same as the one before yours.”

That was reasonable. 

However.

“Can you give me any more detail?” asked Albus, hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” said the ghost, drifting backwards.

.

The next letter from Agilbert was much thicker and contained the records of seven new Hogwarts students. 

.

The wand turning in his fingers was made of pear wood. Not that Danny could tell, just by looking, but the wandmaker, who had accompanied her wares to Ilvermorny, had been very talkative, even when Danny had… _not._

Pear wood, cut from a tree that had grown up through a chain-link fence on the wandmaker’s property. She had meant to cut it out, she said, but by the time she had gotten around to doing so, there had been bowtruckles in it, and she wasn’t about to cut down a good wand wood tree.

Danny still wasn’t entirely sure what bowtruckles _were_ to be honest. 

The wood of the wand was normal. The core, apparently, was not. It was hair from a magical creature, which most wand cores were, but the wandmaker had cheerfully admitted to having no idea what the hair was from. It had shown up in her workshop one day, in a little box, black and white, in neat little bundles. 

Danny had _suspicions_ about where it had come from. 

Suspicions that had been exacerbated by the fact that both Sam and Tucker had been ‘chosen’ by wands with the same core. 

Anyway, Danny had liked the wandmaker, even if he thought she was a bit weird, for using components that _just showed up out of nowhere_ in her work. 

(She reminded him a bit of Mom.)

Danny wasn’t sure why he was thinking of her. It had been months since then. But he was feeling lonely, even though his friends were just in the next room, and Jazz was _here,_ and maybe she was the closest he would let his mind get to…

To…

“If you keep doing that,” said Jazz, “you’re going to put your eye out.” 

Danny glanced over at her. There was an east-facing window behind her, and the sun was shining through her shoulder, lighting her up like stained glass. 

“If they catch you in color, they’re going to have questions.”

Jazz rolled her golden eyes, but the color drained out of her, leaving her ‘properly’ silver and gray. “If they actually _listened_ , instead of dismissing everything weird in Amity as untrained magic acting up, then they wouldn’t need to have questions.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t, and I don’t think they’re going to. So, considering what we have to do…”

“We need all our advantages. You don’t have to tell me again,” said Jazz. She pulled a face. “Well, you did, actually, I guess. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” muttered Danny. “You only died a couple months ago. It takes time to recalibrate.”

“Mm,” said Jazz, sticking her head through the windowpanes and looking down. She pulled back. “Your escort’s coming up.”

“Oh? Yeah?”

“Or at least _someone_. It’s hard to tell who, what with the hats and all…”

It was time to go, then. Danny gathered his things and joined the others in the common area.

.

Hours later, as the sun was setting, nine Americans stepped out of a fireplace in the Ministry of Magic. Seven were students. One was a very haggard chaperon. The last was a ghost whom aurors and representatives from the Department of Spectral Affairs hadn’t quite been able to dissuade from haunting her brother. 

Such was life. Such was death. 

“Alright, kids,” said the chaperon, chivying them towards a central area. “We just have to go through customs, and then we can find a place to relax until the representatives from Hogwarts get here.”

“I thought we already went through customs,” protested Dash. 

“Yeah,” said Paulina. “The _American_ side. To make sure we weren’t smuggling anything out. Now we have to go through the _British_ side, to make sure we aren’t smuggling anything _in.”_

“Smuggling isn’t really the main issue,” said the chaperon, “but, yes. MACUSA knows you aren’t in the states anymore, and we have to make sure the Ministry over here knows you are, so you can comply with their laws and such. Oh, and so you can get the Trace, but that isn’t important.”

“The Trace?” asked Sam, doubling her word count for the day. Ever since the attack, she had been rather taciturn. 

“It’s how they keep track of underage magic over here,” explained the chaperon. “MACUSA phased it out a few years ago. It isn’t very reliable, and besides, recent studies show that magical persons of _any_ age can use magic accidentally, and there’s no good way to tell if there _is_ a magical adult nearby, so…” She gave herself a little shake. “But it’s the law here, and it doesn’t matter. You’ll be at Hogwarts the whole time, anyway.”

“You mean they’ll be tracking us?” asked Danny, trying to keep the alarm from his voice. That could be… problematic. Considering what he was _really_ here for, and all. 

“Not you in particular,” said the chaperon, snagging Tucker by the back of his shirt before he could make a detour to investigate a guarded cart of ominously sparking electronics. She pulled him back. “It’s my understanding that every child with the trace on them shows up as a dot on a map, and the dot changes color if magic is performed near them. Some of the more sophisticated versions can determine what _kind_ of magic, but, well… it isn’t like they ever know which dot belongs to which person, so unless you’re living with all no-maj family members—They call them muggles, here, I think—in a particular house, it is very difficult for them to determine who did what. I’d tell you more, but this isn’t my area of expertise. Perhaps the customs agents will know more? You should ask when we go through…”

Danny began to tune her out. He caught Sam’s eye, then Tucker’s, and they all nodded at each other a little bit. Not that they had a plan or anything, but sometimes it helped to know that other people also found a situation to be sucky. 

Where would the Minister of Magic be in all this mess, anyway? Danny let his eyes rove over the hall. There was no guarantee that he was even here today, and Danny wasn’t to the point where he wanted to reveal himself. He had been given lots of instructions, but one of them had been to keep himself safe. Clockwork had even said it was a priority. 

Best to stick to letters, for now. Even if none of them had been answered, yet.

They reached the long, winding line that was customs, had their luggage gone through yet again. Tucker lost another PDA, and Danny had to wonder how many more he had hidden. The American side of customs had done a pretty good job of finding them. Sam got taken aside for questioning, because some of her goth paraphernalia had a passing resemblance to ‘Dark’ objects. Star had to explain her medications. Valerie set off some sort of magical metal detector, and the customs agents started arguing about what had caused it. No one had found out about her suit yet.

Meanwhile, Danny was sent to another table, to fill out forms for Jazz. Again. Because, for reasons Danny didn’t fully understand, even with everything Clockwork and the other Ancients told him, wizards thought they could control and regulate what ghosts did and where they went. 

Danny did not particularly care for wizards, as a group. The paperwork—The stupid, pointless paperwork, because Jazz was going to do what she wanted and _no one would stop her, he’d make sure of it_ —made him angry. A lot of things made him angry, lately, when they didn’t just make him depressed or sullen. 

“Breathe, Danny,” said Jazz, leaning down, next to his ear. “The language in this is stupid, but I don’t mind being called names. We both know they’re wrong, and what they think isn’t important anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, forcing his muscles to relax. He finished the paperwork. 

They passed through the last customs barrier together, and soon found themselves in a large atrium with a large, extremely gaudy, gold fountain in the center. 

Now, Danny had to admit, he had only the briefest of encounters with house elves and goblins, and none at all with centaurs, but he couldn’t imagine that the look of adoration on their faces was at _all_ accurate. At least not for the species as a whole. 

He tried to imagine the statue with a ghost in it, with a half-ghost in it, and he just—

Yeah. No.

_Wizards._

Or, at least, _these wizards._ Whatever. 

They found a bench off to one side, to wait for the Hogwarts representatives. Danny had to wonder how they’d find them. Would they hold signs? Seemed probable. Everything in the ‘wizarding world’ seemed to be stuck fifty years back in time, if not more. 

Or, maybe, the chaperon knew who they were meeting and would wave at them. Like she was doing now. 

Okay, so, Danny had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t coming up with random prejudices. Ancients. If his first encounter with the supernatural had been those people in cloaks showing up out of thin air and starting to kill people, he’d probably never be able to pull himself out of that mindset. 

Not all wizards were terrible. Like the wandmaker. She was okay.

He took the time to assess the two witches who had come to pick them up. They were opposites of each other, at least in appearance. One was tall, thin, and severe, almost sharp. The other was short and round and sort of soft around the edges. The only areas in which they demonstrated similarity were their age and apparent gender. 

“Alright, kids. This is Professor McGonagall,” she gestured to the taller woman, “and this is Professor Sprout. They’re the heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively. Minerva, Pomona, these are Dash Baxter, Daniel Fenton, Tucker Foley, Valerie Grey, Samantha Manson, Paulina Sanchez, and Star Thunder.”

“And Jazz,” said Danny, annoyed that his sister had, once again, been left out.

“Hey,” said Jazz. “Nice to meet you.”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “We will be taking you to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies for the year before we go to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” said Star, eyes tracking a flock of apparently animate paper airplanes, “we know.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment. “Do you want to come with us, Cerise?”

“No, I have a few other things to do on this side of the Atlantic. That’s why they sent me. Have a good time in Diagon Alley, kids, it’s a historic place!”

.

Danny had to wonder about goblins. Did they just… really like banks, or were they forbidden from holding jobs elsewhere? Or _effectively_ forbidden by prejudice? Because, thus far, he had only seen goblins when changing currency. ‘No-maj’ money to the denominations used by American wizards, and now from that to the infinitely more confusing British ‘galleons.’ 

It would probably be rude to ask. 

Maybe he could find a book…

But were these people self-aware enough to write about stuff like that? He shook his head. Prejudice, prejudice… He barely knew anything about any of these people, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions prematurely. 

Not that he didn’t already know several unsavory things about their system of governance, thanks to the Ancients. And their not-so-little terrorist problem. And the fact that they thought _erasing people’s memories with a spell that could cause long-term brain damage_ was A-Okay. 

Yeah. But that didn’t mean _all_ of them were bad. Just that their government sucked. Which was true for almost all governments, so it didn’t mean anything. 

McGonagall and Sprout were very efficient as they went through the shops, giving the impression that they had done this, or something like this, many times before. They did not allow detours, despite the many, many distracting things on display on the street and in the windows. Professor Sprout, however, kept up a running commentary on what things were, so it wasn’t _too_ frustrating. 

About halfway through the shopping trip, they stopped at the place that sold uniforms. Sprout stayed with them, while McGonagall left to go get other supplies. It was an experience. Other than his jumpsuit, Danny had never had any clothing fitted specifically for him before. 

The fitting made him… nervous. 

The tape measures and needles flew close to his skin. The seamstress who had been assigned to him also kept touching him, which _was_ part of her job, and it wasn’t _invasive_ or anything, but still. Also, there were a lot of other teens, and even some preteen kids, in the store, getting _their_ uniforms, and they were all staring.

What they were staring at wasn’t the same from person to person, Paulina and Jazz seemed to be the biggest targets for whatever reason, but it was still _staring._ The parents waiting with their kids were staring as well, and Danny started to fidget. Which meant that he got stabbed by the needle a few times. Which wasn’t fun. 

But eventually _that_ was over, and they were on their way to Hogwarts. 

.

Considering that Agilbert had tried to compress years’ worth of magical education into the space of a few months for these students, the results were remarkable. True, with one notable exception, none of them were on a fifth-year level in Transfiguration, but Minerva didn’t feel the need to put them all in first-year or remedial classes, either. 

She could only hope they did as well in their assessments in other subjects. They would have a hard enough time figuring out schedules for these seven, without having to account for them bouncing across year levels. 

She picked up the written assessment from the one student she would be accepting into fifth-year Transfiguration. His penmanship was shaky, none of them had quite mastered writing with quills, and his grasp of the theory behind the spells was incomplete, but it was better than some. She tried not to roll her eyes as she thought of Crabbe and Goyle. 

As a teacher, she should be above that. Alas. 

Mr. Fenton did have some insights in his essay questions that were truly extraordinary for a person who didn’t even know magic existed at the beginning of the year. Perhaps they had another Hermione on their hands, although he didn’t give off the same air as she did. Or he had spent the summer focusing only on Transfiguration. Or Mr. Fenton had a singular talent in Transfiguration. Regardless, gifted and motivated students were always a pleasure to teach. 

Minerva gathered her papers and left to meet Filius, who had tested the students before her. She was tempted to go look in on them now and see how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was handling her first teaching experience but suppressed the urge. She would see them, and, sadly, Delores Umbridge, at lunch in only an hour.

Which was why she was so surprised to find the children in a hall so far away from Delores’ room. 

Then she reminded herself that, appearances aside, these were _not_ fifth-year students. They had no experience navigating the castle. 

“Are you lost?” she asked.

The students exchanged glances. “Uh, sort of?” said Miss Sanchez, twirling a curl of hair around her fingers. “We weren’t sure if we should try to find Mr. Snape, or if we should go to the lunch hall.”

“Professor Snape,” corrected Minerva, mildly. “Did you already finish Professor Umbridge’s assessment?”

“She didn’t _give_ us an assessment,” said Miss Manson, angrily. 

Minerva’s eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” said Mr. Fenton. “She basically said that she was doing the same curriculum for everyone, so she didn’t need to. So, we were wondering if we should move on to, um, potions? Potions. Or if we should go to lunch, or just hang out, or what.” 

“Professor Snape is unlikely to be expecting you at this point,” said Minerva, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes. What was Delores thinking? The same curriculum for all years? For eleven-year-olds _and_ eighteen-year-olds? There would be riots. Or at least hexes. “I can take you to the Great Hall.”

“Thanks, Ms. McGonagall,” said Mr. Foley. And what was that he was hiding in his robes? How many cursed muggle machines had he smuggled in?

Minerva sighed. Honestly, it was probably harmless, though she possibly should speak to Charity about it. “ _Professor_ McGonagall.”

“Sorry,” said Mr. Fenton. “It’s just… hard to adjust.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I suppose it is,” she said. “This way, children.”

.

Jazz floated through a wall, carefully avoiding the paintings. Their inhabitants weren’t _quite_ ghosts, from what she and Danny could tell, but they also weren’t _not_ ghosts. 

It hadn’t taken her long last night to find the _actual_ wizarding ghosts. They’d been expecting her, in more ways than one. But they had been weird. _Empty._ They didn’t have any ectoplasm in them, and the intensity that was a part of every other ghost Jazz had ever met, Danny included, was absent. 

Clockwork and the Lady had warned them about that, before sending Danny, and by extension Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, off on his mission. Jazz just hadn’t quite _believed_ it. 

Wizarding ghosts weren’t made of passion, need, want, duty, or even stubbornness. They were made of _fear_. Fear, by itself, didn’t hold ectoplasm well, especially not fear of _death._ Wizarding ghosts might as well be mere imprints for all the power they had.

From the beginning, Jazz had been less than enthusiastic about pretending to be one of them. Now, she was even less so.

It wasn’t their fault, though. At least, it wasn’t _entirely_ their fault. None of the ghosts here were around back when the Ancients and the wizards of the day came together and put their names to the _Tenebris Carta,_ and they were trying to make amends. It sounded like they hoped the old treaty could be renegotiated, or that they hoped Danny and Jazz could get them an _exception._

Jazz didn’t hate them. Didn’t dislike them or anything, and Danny would probably _try_ to help them, so long as they didn’t turn evil or anything. That was just the kind of person Danny was. 

She just needed more time to… _adjust_ to them. And the paintings. Because _wow._

“Ah, Miss Fenton!” 

Jazz twisted herself over, mid-air. “You can call me Jazz, if you want, Sir Nicholas.”

The silvery ghost smiled. “If you insist. We’re going down to the Great Hall, to introduce ourselves to your companions over lunch. I was wondering if you would like to join us.”

“Sure,” said Jazz, descending to float by the other ghost. “But who do you mean by ‘we?’”

“All the castle ghosts,” said Sir Nicholas, “and possibly Peeves, though he won’t be invited.”

“Peeves?”

“The poltergeist. He isn’t really a ghost. At least… he’s not a ghost like us.”

“Mhm,” said Jazz. “Should I look forward to meeting him, or should I be very afraid?”

“Ah, neither, I suppose? He tends to play pranks, but he never does anything terribly dangerous, and he couldn’t hurt you if he tried.”

“Well,” said Jazz, “as long as he doesn’t mess with my brother, we’ll probably get along just fine.” She flexed her hands to disperse the pale green flames that had started to creep up her fingers. “If he does, I’ll tear him apart.”

“Speaking of your brother, do you have any guesses as to which house he will be joining?”

“I wasn’t under the impression it was a choice,” said Jazz. 

“It isn’t, exactly. Students are sorted into the houses with, well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but houses are selected based on a student’s personality, aptitudes, and values. Normally, if they came in as first-years, they would be sorted on the first, but given the circumstances, they’ll be sorted tonight. I’m rather hoping to have a few new students for my house.”

Jazz grinned, detecting a note of competition. “And what does your house look for? Gryffindor, right?”

“Bravery,” said Sir Nicholas, proudly. “Considering your brother’s accomplishments, I’m looking forward to seeing him join.”

“He is the bravest person I know,” said Jazz. 

.

Several dozen ghosts phasing through the walls didn’t just set off _Danny’s_ fight-or-flight response. Sam readied her wrist-lasers, while Tucker grabbed Danny’s wrist and started hunting for a place to hide Danny so his transformation wouldn’t be noticeable. Dash and Star took cover under one of the tables. Paulina pulled out her wand. Valerie materialized a hand blaster. 

It wasn’t entirely clear what weapon went off first, but it didn’t really matter. The end result was chaos.

“Oops,” said Jazz. 

.

“I am so, so, sorry,” said Jazz, hovering over Danny. Literally. 

“It’s fine,” said Danny. “Really.”

“No, it isn’t. I should have realized how everyone would react. I should have told them to stop it, or something.”

“They were already on their way through the walls when you got there, weren’t you?” asked Tucker, swinging his legs back and forth as he sat on the end of the hospital bed. 

No one had been seriously injured, but a few tables had been exploded before the teachers had calmed everyone down and confiscated the ‘bizarre muggle weapons.’ On the other hand, everyone had a number of inconvenient scrapes and bruises that Madam Pomfrey insisted on taking a look at.

“Still,” said Jazz. “I _know_ all of you have PTSD from repeated ghost attacks and _those_ people, I should have known what that would look like to you.”

“Er,” said Dash. “It really is fine.”

“Yeah,” grunted Valerie, which was surprising. 

Outside of ‘Team Phantom,’ none of the others interacted with Jazz very much. They didn’t seem to know _how_. Valerie, however, outright avoided Jazz most of the time. 

Which, well. Danny wasn’t about to call her behavior reasonable, but it was definitely in-character. This seemed like a good sign, though.

“Yes, dear,” agreed Madam Pomfrey. “It isn’t your fault. We adults should have said something before things got out of hand like that.” She waved her wand back and forth over Star’s prominent black eye, and the bruise just… vanished. Like Star had never been hurt. 

Danny inhaled slowly. It wasn’t the first time he had seen magical healing—The aurors who had arrived a few hours after the attack on Amity Park had done a great deal—but if there was anything of magic that Danny wanted to learn, it was that. And anything protective. 

“Is there a class for that?” he asked. 

“For what?”

“Healing.”

“Yes, it’s an elective,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Though it does have a few required courses. Perhaps you will be able to take it next year?”

Danny swallowed down envy and nodded. “Yeah, I guess we aren’t going to have time for electives, for the most part.”

“You may be surprised. Now, I think you’re all set, unless you’re hiding something from me?”

The students shook their heads. 

“Good. I believe Professor Snape is expecting you?”

.

“Did that seem… weirdly easy to you?” asked Sam. 

Danny thought about it for a second. “Not the ‘what does this plant or animal part do’ questions,” he said, finally, “but the practical part of it? Yeah. It was just… cooking. Really fiddly cooking, but still cooking.”

“Speaking of,” said Tucker, “how did you get by the parts where you had to use animal body parts.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Sam. “I just skipped those. I’m pretty sure I failed, judging by the look on Professor Snape’s face. My end result was pretty nasty-looking. It smelled bad, too.”

“You’re the reason we were stuck in an unventilated basement breathing in burnt hair fumes?” asked Paulina.

“Yeah. I mean, it didn’t smell like burnt hair to me, but probably.”

Paulina sighed. “I have to hand it to you, girl, you stand by your convictions.”

“I don’t think it’s unventilated,” said Star, contemplatively. “I wasn’t really paying attention, but there was definitely movement in all the, uh, vapors, or whatever. Professor Snape _totally_ needs a better teacher face, though. Like, does he just have the one expression, or what?”

“No, no,” said Sam. “The look he gave me when I turned in my disaster was way more pronounced.”

“Still needs more than disdain and mega-disdain,” said Tucker. “Even Lancer had a wider range.”

“Come on, guys,” said Danny, “he can’t be much more than, what, thirty? He has time to develop more emotions.”

“Yeah,” said Valerie, flatly. “Give it a couple more years, and maybe he’ll nail down _hyper-_ disdain.”

This surprised a snicker out of everyone. Almost everyone.

“Uh, guys?” said Dash. “I think I might have been the one who made it smell like burnt hair. What was it _supposed_ to smell like?”

“I’m so glad I don’t need to breathe,” said Jazz. 

“Oh my _gosh,_ Jazz, that’s way too soon.”

.

“What do you think?” asked the hat. 

The hat. 

Danny could understand the paintings. He could almost understand how the paintings worked, even. They had the shapes of people who had once lived, their image, their likeness, and had by virtue of magic snagged a piece of their soul as they left this world.

But a _hat._ Who would try to give a _hat_ sentience? And _how?_ Was the thing possessed by an extraordinarily unfortunate ghost?

“Um,” said Danny, shaking off the shock. “I liked it!”

“Sorry,” said Star, “I’m just a little surprised. Are you really a… a hat?”

“Yes, I am the Sorting Hat! It is my job to divine which of our four houses each of you should belong to. Weren’t you listening?”

“We were,” assured Star, “it’s just…”

“You’re a hat,” finished Tucker. “Did you used to be a wizard or something?”

“Goodness, no, I was Godric Gryffindor’s hat! He enchanted me.”

“So, are you like a computer program?” continued Tucker. “Are you an AI?”

“No Skynet,” muttered Sam. 

“Why do you guys keep thinking I’m going to make Skynet?”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. The other teachers were all present, except for the headmaster and Professor Umbridge. Their absences had not been explained. 

“When you hear your name,” said McGonagall, “please come up and put the Sorting Hat on. It also usually helps if you sit down on the stool. Once the hat has determined your house, take it off, and put it down for the next person to use.”

Alright. That sounded easy enough. Danny wasn’t quite sure why such a big production was being made of this. A few comments from the teachers and the ghosts—not that Danny had talked to them very much, this was the first full day they’d been at the school—suggested there was some kind of rivalry between the houses, but it couldn’t be that bad. It was _school._

Except Casper High had its nasty cliques, too, and he could just imagine how school-sanctioned cliques would work out. Especially if they were backed up by centuries of history and a magic personality test. 

Fun. 

Not.

He hoped he, Sam, and Tucker would all be in the same house. And that Dash wouldn’t revert to being a bully as soon as other students were added to the mix. And that… Oh, he hoped a lot of things, but he would be thankful if the ‘school’ part of this whole ordeal was as easy and drama-free as possible.

After all, he had other things to worry about.

“Baxter, Dash,” said McGonagall, evenly. 

“Good luck, man,” said Tucker, holding up his thumbs. Everyone mirrored him. 

Dash looked very strange, sitting on that small stool, but he wasn’t on it for more than a second before the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was very loud. Dash returned to the bench with a confused expression on his face.

“Fenton, Daniel.”

Danny stood up slowly. He had expected something more like a conversation. Was this a mind reading hat? Was the ‘take a peek inside your head’ bit _literal_? 

Ugh, this was going to be a pain. Good thing he had a lot of practice in compartmentalizing. 

“Ah, a burgeoning occlumens!” said the hat in its warm voice. “How unusual.”

“I have no idea what that means,” said Danny, mildly. 

“Oh, I’m sure your teachers will explain it to you. I won’t take the pleasure from them.” 

The voice was, Danny decided, more than half in his head, which was… Unsettling. Voices in his head usually either meant mind control, some jerk with telepathy, or someone trying to overshadow him. He didn’t like this. He really didn’t like this. 

“No need to be so nervous,” said the hat. “I keep everything strictly confidential.”

“Forgive me if I’m not reassured,” said Danny. 

“Hmf. In any case, you have traits that would do you well in any of the houses. Perhaps not Ravenclaw, though. As clever as you are, you are behind academically. You need a more nurturing environment, I imagine. As for the others… You are brave. You love your friends. You’d do anything for them?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. 

“And there’s… something else you need to do?”

Danny was silent. 

“I can’t see it very clearly, but it is an important task?”

Danny shrugged. 

“A goal.”

“Sure.”

“I think, then, the choice is between the badger and the snake,” said the hat. “But I believe the decisive phrase here is ‘do anything.’ Therefore, you will be SLYTHERIN!”

Wow. Even bracing himself, that had been loud.

Danny stood up and carefully deposited the hat back on the stool. He noticed on his way back to the bench that more than one teacher looked flabbergasted, and several spectating ghosts looked disappointed. Almost crushed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, he was a celebrity among the undead, no he couldn’t be in two houses at once. They should have prepared themselves. 

Not to mention that, as important as education was, it was somewhat secondary to his true goals here. Which the ghosts _partially_ knew about. 

“Foley, Tucker.”

.

“I can’t believe it,” said Filius later that evening when all the teachers (sans Umbridge) gathered for a drink. 

“I did say you would find the results surprising,” said Sybill, smugly. 

“Two muggle-born American transfer students in Slytherin,” said Filius, wonderingly. “I didn’t expect to get any of them for Ravenclaw, but _Slytherin?_ ”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t denigrate my house, Filius,” said Severus. 

The diminutive teacher waved his hand. “Oh, that’s not my intention. But you have to admit, it seems like a strange choice.”

“They aren’t really muggle-born, though, are they?” asked Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, opting for tea instead of wine. “I’m not sure about the Sanchezes, but the Fentons were quite prominent, back in the day, weren’t they? At least, one of their ancestors wrote the first English book on new world magical creatures.”

“Muggle-borns and half-bloods are chosen for Slytherin all the time,” said Severus, annoyance clearly increasing. “Not, perhaps, as often as for the other houses, but it does happen regularly. You don’t have to be so shocked.”

“It’s nothing against Slytherin,” assured Pomona. “We were just expecting them to get split between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. American stereotypes in play, I suppose.”

“Mm,” said Septima, who was doodling equations on the back of her wrist. “On my end, my thought process was more that they wouldn’t do well trying to play catchup in Ravenclaw, and they wouldn’t have the ambition and drive to hold their own in Slytherin. The Sorting Hat disagreed.”

“Evidently,” said Severus. He didn’t look especially pleased, but then he never did. 

“Better you than me,” said Filius, after a few minutes. “I can’t imagine it will be easy integrating them.”

Minerva, who had three of the students, laughed, “You aren’t getting out of it that easy, Filius. They still have charms. How did they do, by the way? We never really got around to discussing it.”

“None of them were brilliant,” said Filius. “But they have promise. I was wondering what you all thought about doing an accelerated class for some of them, to get them to a higher year-level.”

.

Being on the Hogwarts Express without Ron at his side felt wrong. Sure, he wasn’t entirely alone, Ginny was with him, and Hegwig, but it felt different. He felt exposed. 

Although, that might have had something to do with all the people staring and pointing at him. 

The _Daily Prophet_ had spent most of the summer convincing everyone he was a lying show-off. The only things that had really competed with the ‘Harry Potter is delusional’ articles were the ‘haha, America is going to hell in a handbasket, aren’t we glad we aren’t them?’ articles. 

(Harry wouldn’t have even cast a glance at the second, except that he and the others had overheard some of the Order members mention Death Eaters had been behind the attack on the muggle town. Even so, reading them made him feel grimy.)

They had to go all the way to the end of the train to get away from the unfriendly eyes, and that’s where they found Neville. 

“Hi, Harry,” he said, out of breath. “Hi, Ginny… Everywhere’s full… I can’t find a seat…”

Ginny squeezed past him to look at the compartments behind him. “What are you talking about? There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here—”

“I don’t want to disturb her—”

“Don’t be silly, she’s alright.” She slid the door open and pulled her trunk in. “Hi, Luna. Is it okay if we take these seats?”

It took a couple minutes to get situated in the compartment, during which time Harry tried not to stare at Luna Lovegood very much. The blonde girl was surrounded by an aura of almost impenetrable oddness. 

“Have a good summer, Luna?” asked Ginny. 

Luna opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning. “No, actually. My father had some friends in Amity Park. The town in America, you know.” She turned her head slightly. “ _You’re_ Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” said Harry. 

The four of them then proceeded to have a fairly enjoyable conversation, right up until Neville’s _mimbulus mimbletonia_ sprayed them all with rancid sap and Cho Chang opened the compartment door. 

Cho Chang who he had a crush on.

Yeah.

Harry had a strong desire to curl up and die. 

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for over an hour, by which time the food trolley had come and gone, and most of the bounty acquired from it had been eaten. 

“Oh, you have food. Brilliant,” said Ron, taking a Chocolate frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him. “You won’t believe what happened.”

“Malfoy’s Slytherin prefect?” asked Harry. The fear had been buzzing in the back of his head ever since Ron and Hermione had gotten their badges. 

“Well, yeah,” said Ron. 

“And that complete _cow_ Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione. 

“But that’s not the real surprise,” said Ron, oddly dismissive. “You remember all those articles in the _Prophet?_ Not the ones about you. About that town, in America?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, some of kids who survived were wizards.”

“And witches,” added Hermione. She pulled Crookshanks into her lap. 

“Well, apparently their ministry didn’t think they’d be safe over there, so they sent them here. Seven of ‘em.”

“What? They think it’s safe _here?_ ” In Hogwarts, maybe it was, except Harry had been snatched away even with all eyes on him, in the middle of a heavily attended competition. “With Voldemort on the loose?”

Everyone flinched. 

“Well, that isn’t exactly being publicized,” said Hermione. “Not—Not in the right way. Besides, none of them knew about magic before this summer. They’re all our age, though. It must have been a shock. Especially after losing their families like that.” She shuddered. “We’ve been asked to help them acclimate. That’s why the meeting ran so long.” 

“Are they in Gryffindor, then?” asked Luna. 

“They’re sort of spread out,” said Hermione. “They’re in all the houses but Ravenclaw.”

“And I’m still not sure how they got put into Slytherin if they’re muggleborn,” said Ron, who had tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “It doesn’t make sense,” he complained.

“Merlin was muggleborn,” said Luna. “He was a Slytherin. I’m sure there were others.”

Ron pulled a face. 

(Harry thought about Voldemort—About Tom Riddle and his muggle father.)

“Anyway,” said Hermione. “We have three of them. Hufflepuff and Slytherin each have two.”

First Death Eaters in America, and now Slytherins from there? Harry shook himself internally. No, it probably didn’t mean anything. 

“We probably won’t see much of them,” said Ron. “They’re taking mostly remedial classes. First and second year stuff.”

“Say,” said Luna, “do you know who the prefects are for the other houses?”

“Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,” said Hermione. 

“And Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff,” added Ron. “You know, other than helping keep track of the younger kids and patrolling corridors every so often, there’s not really much we’re supposed to do as prefects. From how Percy talked about it, I always sort of thought there’d be more.” Then he grinned. “We can give punishments out if people are misbehaving. I can’t _wait_ to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…”

Predictably, this set off Hermione.

.

“There’s nothing else about the Americans?” asked Draco, frowning. “I’m not sure how we’re expected to ‘help them acclimate’ with so little information.”

The Head Girl rolled her eyes. “You’re expected to _talk to_ them,” she said. “Considering that they’re real human beings and all. They’ve been through a lot, apparently, and I can appreciate them not wanting to have it spread around.”

Unspoken was the _‘do you?’_ at the end of her sentence. Draco let his lip curl. People from other houses were always so eager to think the worst of Slytherin when all they were trying to be was logical. 

“I’ll do that, then,” said Draco, stepping out of the prefects’ carriage. He needed to find Crabbe and Goyle. Annoying. As much as he was their leader, and he watched them, they were also there to watch _him_ and—

(Draco chose not to think of the people who had arrived at Malfoy Manor over the Summer, of the things he’d seen.)

(When he was quite young, he’d read a book about muggle Germany during the time of Grindelwald, and how Grindelwald had subtly influenced things in that country. He’d always been struck by the use of informants, of how everyone had been convinced to watch one another and report those who stepped out of line. He found he could appreciate it even more now that he was inside a similar trap.)

But the Americans. It was so _odd._ They couldn’t have any lineage to speak of. Not if they were living like muggles in some backwater town. 

… some backwater town the Dark Lord had seen fit to destroy. 

… ‘Fenton’ sounded vaguely familiar. 

… Perhaps ‘Sanchez’ was from a Spanish pureblood line. 

Draco would have to do research. He was good at that. But whatever he found, he’d have to keep an eye on the Americans. 

If nothing else, it would be good to have friends overseas. 

.

“We’ll be in different dorms after this,” said Danny, vaguely depressed. “Different classes, too, most of the time.”

“We can still see each other during the day,” said Sam. “I think the only meal that’s segregated by house is dinner, anyway. We should be able to hang out at all the other times.”

Danny sighed. He had yet to have much success in his missions. 

He’d felt something _wrong_ on the seventh floor, but he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it. He’d found a giant inaccessible dungeon full of snake statues, a snake skeleton, and a number of other somewhat questionable things underneath the school. There had been an _echo_ of something there, but whatever it was had been long gone by the time Danny got there. He also had the faint sense of a ghost—a _real_ ghost—beginning to form there, and he hoped he hadn’t messed it up by spreading his ectoplasm around. 

On the second front, he hadn’t heard anything from any of the leaders of the wizarding world. Unless he counted a reply from a secretary who thought he was disturbed. 

But there was one bright spot. They’d met the Headmaster yesterday, and Danny was certain the man’s wand was one of the two subjects of his third quest. Which was hilarious. Out of everything, he’d thought the Hallows would be the hardest to find. 

Not that he could just _take_ it. Not now. Not yet. Not with everything else still so uncertain and Clockwork’s quiet assurance that he would find most of what he needed to at Hogwarts. 

(Clockwork and the Lady had made a deal with him, bound in old magic and ghost law. Three tasks. Three nearly impossible quests, but at the end of them, the one who had destroyed half of his world, who had harmed his people, would be gone, and in the meantime Amity Park would be protected. Danny knew he had gotten the better half of the deal, with Clockwork practically on his side. Even with the… other requirements. Still, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged.)

So, he’d stay, and wait, and keep a careful eye on the Headmaster, and try to find the thing on the seventh floor, and figure out what spells worked on ghosts and if he could circumvent them, and figure out how to intercept at least one magical head of state, and, and, and…

Ugh. 

“If we aren’t too busy,” said Danny. 

“You know we’re here to help,” said Tucker, prodding Danny’s side. “And even if the rest of them don’t know about, you know, I think they’d be willing to help, too.”

“Within reason,” said Sam. 

It was true. Surviving near-death experiences together tended to make people—well. Not necessarily friends, but something more than mere acquaintances. _Allies,_ at the very least.

(Especially if a lot of other people had died at the same time, and the survivors were holding on to the relationships they still had with all their strength.)

“I know,” said Danny. He bit his lip. “There’s something on the seventh floor, I think. Need more time to figure out what, though.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” promised Sam. 

“And an ear, too,” said Tucker, tapping his. “I’m sure there’ll be lots of rumors and legends in a place like this.”

“Me too. Jazz has been interrogating the paintings, you know.” He frowned. “They’re so _weird._ ”

“Everything about this is weird,” said Sam. “Can’t believe we thought ghosts were the whole extent of the supernatural. It seems so dumb, now.”

“Not really,” said Danny. “I mean, ghosts were all that we saw, and they didn’t really mention anything else.” He sighed. “Guess we should get ready for the feast or whatever?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, standing. “Good luck meeting your classmates. Housemates? How are we even supposed to say that?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny. He sighed. “At least we each have at least one person from Casper with us.”

“That’s true,” said Tucker. “Can’t say I feel like I have much in common with Star, though. Other than,” he gestured, vaguely, “all the Amity Park stuff.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And you think I have a lot in common with Dash?”

“You have a lot in common with Valerie,” offered Tucker. 

Sam shrugged. “We do both fight ghosts.”

Tucker’s grin turned slightly wicked. “And have a crush on the same guy.”

“Take a walk off a

Danny let himself smile. It had been a while since the three of them had gotten some good banter in. It was hard to verbally spar when you were depressed. 

.

Sitting next to Paulina at an otherwise empty table felt strange. But it would feel even stranger to sit _not_ next to Paulina at the _very large_ empty table. Danny let his eyes drift over to the other three house tables. It seemed that the others were of the same opinion, sitting together in little, painfully awkward clusters. 

All the close friend groups had been pulled apart, after all. 

“Danny,” said Paulina. Her voice wavered at the end.

“Yeah?”

“The wizard kids will have cliques.”

“I mean, yeah, they’re still human, right?” And even ghosts formed groups. 

Paulina nodded and clenched her jaw. “We’re going to get into one,” she said, firmly. “We’ll have to find the best one, and fast, otherwise we’ll wind up at the bottom of the pecking order. _You_ know how much that sucks.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, his eyebrows raised. He was a little surprised to be included. 

“The wizards we’ve met so far are pretty weird. You know how to deal with weird.”

“Uh,” said Danny. “Is this a strategy thing? Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”

“It’s never too late to salvage social standing, and we haven’t even started,” said Paulina. “Anyway, you’re the backup plan, in case they’re aliens who don’t fall for my charm.” She put a hand to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Should we even use charm like that here? I mean, since it’s a class, now.”

“Hmf. I’m good at that, too.” She examined her fingernails. “We’ll probably attract a bunch of people, just because we’re _here_ and _visible_ and _new._ We just need to make sure that people stay interested in us.”

“I’m not sure I want attention, Paulina.”

“Then pay attention and follow my lead. If you’re in the right clique, you can fade into the background. Like Star. No one notices the stuff she gets up to. They’re all too focused on yours truly. As they should be.”

This was true, actually. People didn’t really pay any attention to Star, except in her person as Paulina’s satellite. Even Danny, before becoming Phantom and gaining a new perspective on life and the people in it, hadn’t. 

“Besides,” continued Paulina, “now that we, well.” She didn’t quite blush. “You guys don’t suck as much as I thought you did.”

“Uh, thanks. You, too?”

Wow. That was quite possibly the worst response he could have had. 

Paulina sighed heavily. 

However, she was distracted from whatever she might have said to him by the first of the Hogwarts students coming in. Paulina turned her attention away, her eyes flicking from one set of green and silver highlights to the next. Whenever a student looked their way she smiled and waved, pouring on the charm. 

Danny didn’t know how she did it. Social engineering was never going to be his strong point.

(Perhaps he could set Paulina and Star on the Minister of Magic’s trail. They might have more luck.)

Before he could follow the train of thought, they were surrounded. In a simply physical sense. There was no malice and very little aggression from the students that sat near them, more than one of whom had prefects badges. Still, Danny did have to fight down a knee-jerk reaction. He saw Paulina shift uncomfortably as well, and he gave her robe what he hoped was a steadying tug. 

She returned it with a tight smile. 

There wasn’t much time to talk before Professor McGonagall stood up with the hat and started calling names. Everyone went very quiet during the sorting, except for the cheer that rose with the hat’s every shout. 

Then there was food. A lot of food. Most of it was recognizable, but some of it was sort of weird. Many things were pumpkin flavored. There was even something Danny was fairly certain was pumpkin _juice._

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Paulina took the time to engage in social engineering. Danny took the time to watch. They were both watched back, of course, but Paulina naturally drew more attention. 

However, there was one boy who kept staring at Danny. He was about their age and had pale blonde hair. _Really_ pale blonde hair. 

(Danny had thought Star and Dash were blonde.)

“You’re Daniel Fenton, correct?” asked the boy. 

“Um. Yes. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy. I’m the fifth-year prefect.”

“Oh, Draco like the constellation?”

Draco blinked. “Yes.”

“Did your parents like astronomy a lot, then?”

“Astrology,” corrected Draco. “Astronomy is what _muggles_ do.”

Danny carefully forced down the white-hot rage he felt at that statement. Yeah, he had more than a normal admiration for astronomy, and, therefore, a more intense than normal reaction to astronomy and astrology being confused, but magic was real, apparently, so maybe astrology wasn’t useless. Right. Yeah. And they were both about stars, planets, and space. Nothing to get mad at.

“It’s been a tradition in my mother’s family for generations,” Draco was saying, “although we occasionally make some allowances for other traditions. My mother’s name is Narcissa, for example. Is there anything similar in your family?”

“Dad’s side does ‘J’ names for the first born. Jazz got stuck with that.”

The boy’s eyebrows went up. “You have a sister? She isn’t magical?”

“Magical enough to haunt me,” said Danny. 

“Pardon?”

“She died. She’s around here somewhere, though.” He gestured vaguely. “Didn’t want to be around big crowds. I think she said she was going to hang out with Myrtle?”

“Myrtle? Do you mean _Moaning_ Myrtle? Who haunts the bathrooms?”

This time, the reaction Danny suppressed was a cringe, the emotion embarrassment on behalf of the young witch ghost. “She just introduced herself as Myrtle. Well, Myrtle Warren, but… Yeah. It’s kind of rude to describe someone as moaning, isn’t it?”

The boy puffed up, slightly, clearly offended. 

Oh, dear. 

.

The Americans were… interesting, Harry thought. 

Ron and Hermione had sat near them as part of their ‘prefect duties,’ with Harry and therefore Ginny and Neville following after. 

Well. That may have had more to do with curiosity than anything else. 

They introduced themselves by their first names only. Dash, Valerie, and Sam. Dash was… well. Harry had encountered people like him both before and after coming to Hogwarts. For example, McClaggen. Harry hadn’t ever interacted much with McClaggen, even if they were in the same house, but Dash definitely gave off the same feeling. Meanwhile, Valerie just sort of glared at everyone, resisting all attempts at conversation while tearing at her food with extreme aggression. Sam had managed to engage Hermione and Katie Bell in a conversation about dark magic that was getting Hermione progressively more flustered. 

Harry couldn’t tell if it was because of the misconceptions Sam had about magic in general, or because Sam seemed to think some kinds of dark magic should be legal. 

He was starting to get a very _bad_ feeling about these Americans.

.

“Hey,” whispered Tucker, while the students around them were distracted by something a rather round ghost was saying. 

“What?” whispered Star.

“Is it just me, or is everyone here sort of depressed? Like, I can understand _us_ being depressed, but…”

“No, no it’s not just you. Wasn’t there something about a student death? Some kind of freak accident.”

“Oh,” said the student sitting across from them. “You heard about Cedric.”

.

Danny wondered if he could get to the Minister of Magic through Dolores Umbridge. He hadn’t gotten a good read on her during their very brief encounters the previous week, but now... She gave off the impression of having some kind of political power. His understanding was that the headmaster had a lot of influence among the wizards and witches of this country, so for her to be interrupting him _like that…_

Or maybe he was like Danny and weak against social awkwardness. 

Also, her speech seemed to have a deeper meaning he couldn’t decode. He didn’t understand wizarding culture or their political climate enough, despite his research. 

Eh. He’d have to get a better grasp of her personality and position. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too hard. He _did_ have a class with her. 

.

“The events of last spring have left a mark on the whole school,” said Severus Snape into the muffled quiet of the Slytherin common room, his voice just barely more emotive than during the placement test he had given the Casper High students, “and no doubt on many of your home lives as well. I want you to know that if you have any… concerns… regarding the behaviors of fellow students or… more sensitive topics, you can come to me.”

The man blinked slowly at them. 

“That is all,” he said, finally, and with an overly dramatic swish of his cloak he departed. 

The room quickly filled with light chatter, students breaking off into little cliques, some of them slipping away down shadowy corridors. 

Paulina tugged him towards one of those groups. 

“Hi, Pansy,” she said, giving the girl a little wave, “hi, Draco. We were wondering if you guys could show us around? We were told our stuff would be moved here, but…” She trailed off, shrugging elegantly. 

Danny tried to echo the movement. 

He most likely did not succeed.

(It wasn’t like he could tell. His superpowers did not include seeing himself from the outside—Or maybe they did. There could be a spell for that, he supposed.)

He had to admit, as the prefects made a (just slightly supercilious) show of presenting the Slytherin dormitories to them, that he rather liked the space. It was surprisingly well-ventilated and warm, but there was still a general air of closeness, of security of bone-deep chill that spoke so well to his ghost half. 

Of course, a lot of that would probably evaporate once Danny tried to sleep in a room with half a dozen strangers, but, well, he’d deal with that when he got there.

.

Magic was great and all, but Tucker would trade it all away in a second if only to get his PDA to work properly. 

In the tent formed by his bedsheet and his body, Tucker hissed and rapped on the staticky screen, hoping an impact adjustment would do… something. He didn’t know what. The last three hadn’t done _anything._

The way the metal casing was heating up under his hand was disturbing. Quickly, he thumbed the power button. He didn’t have a lot of these left, and he wanted to be able to use them to communicate with Danny and Sam. He missed their late-night Doom sessions. 

(Along with everything else about his life in Amity Park. He at least had the power to make talking to his friends possible. The rest? Not so much.)

He groaned into his pillow. He’d been working on this off and on all week. Another night wouldn’t matter in the long run. 

Maybe one of his classes would help him understand what he was doing wrong.

.

Sam had sort of enjoyed needling Hermione (the girl reminded her a _lot_ of Jazz), even if she knew she shouldn’t, but the nasty fight between some of the fifth year boys in the common room had really ruined the mood. Hermione’s friend, Harry, was apparently some sort of celebrity. Like, in the same way Phantom had been a celebrity following Walker’s invasion. 

So. Not really a great thing for him. 

Ugh. _Sympathy._ Feelings. She sighed and stared up at the red and gold ceiling. If the color scheme didn’t do her in…

.

Danny met Jazz in the air over the school. 

“I didn’t see you much today,” he said, twisting hands that he is keeping carefully transparent.

“Yeah,” said Jazz. “I’m just… I’m still adjusting. I think you’ll like Myrtle, by the way. She’s lonely, but fun. I think there might actually be a bit of ectoplasm in her, believe it or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She can flood the toilets, apparently. Although… I’m not sure if she meant the toilets themselves, or just the room in general.” She frowned. “Because she said something about sinks…” She shook her head. “Not important. Want to hear what she told me about the secret underground room and the giant snake skeleton? Not to mention all the other ridiculous stuff that’s happened here. If this is ‘safer,’ I don’t want to know what the rest of the wizarding world is like.”

“Like what happened in Amity, I guess,” said Danny. “But! Yes. Please tell me what you found out.”

.

Breakfast was nice. Especially when Sam, Danny, and Tucker compared schedules and realized that they had more classes together than they expected. Not with all three of them at once, but even just two of them together was better than nothing. 

Yes, they got a lot of strange looks, especially when Jazz joined them. Evidently, eating breakfast with people from other houses just wasn’t done. Which was stupid, in Sam’s opinion. Actually, the whole house system felt increasingly stupid to Sam. She just didn’t understand the point. Was it for sports?

It was probably for sports. Sports were the root of all evil. Just look at Dash. He hadn’t had any sports for a whole Summer, and now he was acting like an actual decent human being. 

Okay. That reasoning was suspect. Sam would have to come back to this when she was more awake. Early mornings were the worst. 

Anyway. She had an acceptable breakfast with her friends and the people she’d grown to tolerate, then she set out to find History. 

Which is how she overheard the conversation between Hermione and her friends. 

“What’s S.P.E.W.?” she asked.

Hermione’s two friends glared at Sam. Probably for the sin of eating with people from another house. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Well,” said Hermione, just slightly hesitant. “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare…”

(Sam found a new cause to get incandescently angry about. Wizard society _sucked._ )

.

Harry was surprised to see five of the Americans, the three Gryffindors and the two Slytherins, standing by the door to Defense Against the Dark Arts, quietly talking to each other. 

“What’re they doing, then?” asked Ron, scowling. “Consorting with the enemy?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “They aren’t the _enemy._ And they’re from the same place. It must be difficult, being so far away from home.”

Ron grunted and shrugged. “What d’you think Umbridge’ll be like, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject. 

They filed into the classroom, the remainder of the class, including the Slytherins, their green looking horribly out of place amongst all the red trim, following shortly after. No one knew what Umbridge would be like, regarding punishment, so they didn’t want to immediately get on her bad side. 

“Well,” she said, in a sickly-sweet tone, “good afternoon!”

There was a mumbled response. 

Umbridge said “Tut, tut.” She actually said _tut tut._ Out loud. “ _That_ won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” said the class, in something approaching unison and the least enthusiastic tone Harry had heard since Ron had tried to convince Hermione to help him with his Divination homework last year.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many of the students exchanged gloomy or exasperated looks. Lessons without wands tended to be uninteresting, with very few exceptions. 

(Instead of quills, the Americans produced pencils and pens from their bookbags.)

Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out her own wand, which was as stubby as she was, and tapped the blackboard. Words appeared on the board at once: _Defense Against the Dark Arts, A Return to Basic Principles._

Harry couldn’t quite repress a groan. Luckily, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Well now, your teaching in this subject had been rather disrupted, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge. She turned to face the class, her eyes briefly lingering on Harry, and then the Americans. “Or completely nonexistent. The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however,” she continued, still acting like she was talking to kindergarteners, “that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year.”

Each word Umbridge spoke made Harry’s heart drop farther. How could Dumbledore let this woman teach them? _This_ year? When knowing how to fight dark magic was more important than ever?

Umbridge rapped the board again, and new words appeared. _Course aims: 1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

Oh. This year was going to be bad. As for the day, it got worse when Umbridge assigned a reading from what had to be the dullest book Harry had ever read. Including that one time—No. Focus.

He massaged his temples and wondered if he needed to get a new prescription for his glasses. The words on the page refused to stay sharp. 

Harry looked up when the Americans started to whisper among themselves and caught sight of one of the most shocking things he had ever witnessed: Hermione _not_ reading. 

Soon, everyone was staring either at Hermione or the Americans, who had left off whispering after some pointed glaring from Umbridge but had replaced the whispers with passionate gesturing at something in the back of the book. Those, too, died down after a while, in favor of looking at Hermione. 

Eventually, Umbridge could no longer ignore the situation. 

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?”

“Not about the chapter, no.”

“Well, we’re reading just now.” Umbridge smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione, undeterred. 

“And your name is—?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.” 

“Well, I don’t. There’s nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells.”

“There’s nothing in the book about using spells, either!” said the Slytherin boy, waving his copy angrily. “There aren’t even any of the, um.” He paused and looked at Sam for a second. 

“Incantations,” said Sam. “I mean, that’s what I’d call them? I don’t know the official term.”

Umbridge inhaled through her teeth. 

“ _Using_ defensive spells?” she asked, voice pitched unnaturally high. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss—”

“And what about outside of the classroom?” interrupted the Slytherin boy. 

“Like, this is supposed to teach us how to not die, right?” asked the girl next to him, examining her fingernails. 

“You have to practice self-defense to actually get good at it,” agreed Valerie, crossing her arms. “What’s the point of this class if we’re not going to actually learn how to _do_ stuff?”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione, “surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Students,” gritted Umbridge, “will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class.”

At once, a dozen hands went up.

“Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked, voice dangerous. 

“Isn’t the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells?”

“Miss Granger,” said Umbridge. “As you are not a Ministry-trained educational expert, you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of this, or any, class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have—”

“I really doubt that,” interjected Ron. 

Umbridge took another deep breath. “You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—”

“What’s the use of that?” demanded Harry, loudly. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a—”

“ _Hand_ , Mr. Potter!”

Predictably, Umbridge turned her back on him as soon as he thrust his fist into the air. Instead, she called on Dean Thomas. 

(The part of Harry’s brain that wasn’t vibrating in frustration noted that the Americans were passing notes between each other.)

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” he asked, once she had gotten done with interrogating him about his name. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free—”

“Do you expect to be attacked in class?”

Harry was very tempted to say yes, considering that three of his four previous DADA teachers had wound up attacking him. 

… Did Professor Lupin’s werewolf form having a go at him bring the count up to four?

Umbridge talked over Dean. “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, with the air of someone who was about to do just that, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

The Slytherin boy stood up, chair scraping across the floor. Sam, next to him, had gone pale. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around her wand. 

“Sit down, Mr.-?”

“I’m leaving,” said the boy, not deigning to give Umbridge his name. He picked up his bag. “Maybe I can sit in on an actually useful lesson. I mean, if I can figure out how to make a pineapple tap dance, I can get it to fly into someone’s face. At least that’s _something_.”

“Sit _down,”_ repeated Umbridge. “I do not know what your classmates have told you, but you, all of you,” she said to the class, “have been frightened into believe that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—”

“We haven’t been frightened into believing anything!” exclaimed Dash, also rising from his seat. “Our entire city was attacked! We need—"

“Which was a _tragedy._ One that is unlikely to be repeated! Now, _sit down._ ”

The other Americans stood up. 

“We heard about Cedric Diggory, you know,” said the Slytherin girl, coldly. “And a lot of the people who attacked us were never caught.”

“We also know about the giant murder snake that apparently lived here,” said the boy. 

“I, for one, can’t believe that wizards are less likely to be murders than any other human,” said Valerie. “If normal people need to take self-defense classes, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to.”

“The government preventing people from learning how to defend themselves is historically a bad sign,” said Sam. “Of course, slavery is _also_ a bad sign, and you all have been ignoring _that_ for God only knows how long. There are _actual slaves in this school_.”

“Wait,” said the Slytherin boy, horrified. “Are you serious? Is that what you were talking about before? Oh my _God—"_

“Children!” exclaimed Umbridge. “ _Your hands are not up._ ” 

The looks Umbridge got after that outburst were filled with incredulity, not

Parvati Patil raised her hand. 

“Yes?” asked Umbridge.

Harry was beginning to wonder if she was looking for punishment. 

“Isn’t there supposed to be a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to—”

The room exploded into a flurry of objections, spurred on by the Americans. 

“Who exactly do you think is going to attack you?” shouted Umbridge over the ruckus. 

“I don’t know!” shouted Harry back, even though part of him knew this was a bad idea. “How about _Lord Voldemort?_ ”

Silence. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter?”

“ _Points?”_ whispered Dash. No one else spoke. 

The Slytherin boy was looking at Harry with something like hunger in his eyes. 

“Now, let me make a few quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard had returned from the dead—”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry, “but yeah, he’s returned!”

“Do not make matters worse for yourself, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Umbridge shrilly. “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie._ ”

“It is NOT a lie! I saw him! I fought him!”

Glee spread across Umbridge’s toad-like face. “Detention, Mr. Potter. Tomorrow evening. Five— _What do you think you’re doing?_ ”

“Um,” said the Slytherin boy, who like the rest of the Americans was halfway to the door. “Leaving. Like we said?” He hadn’t stopped walking.

“You will do no such thing! All five of you will be joining Mr. Potter for detention.”

“Pass.” His eyes flicked towards Harry again.

“Excuse me?”

“We have better things to do than humor someone who’s refusing to do their job,” said Sam. 

The classroom doors slammed shut right in front of the Slytherin boy’s nose, and he took half a step back. 

“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock, all six of you will join me for detention in my office. Now. The rumors of that Dark wizard’s return are lies. The Ministry guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, if someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, come see me outside of class hours, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. Now, kindly, continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”

The Americans slunk back to their seats but pulled a variety of colorful transfiguration textbooks from their bags instead of _Defensive Magical Theory._

With an air of triumph, Umbridge sat down behind her desk. 

Harry stood up. 

“Harry, no!” whispered Hermione, tugging at his sleeve. 

Harry ignored her. (Which was, in all honesty, a stupid move. Ignoring Hermione rarely had positive consequences.)

(In his defense, the preceding several minutes had been… stressful.)

“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?”

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accid—”

“Just like Amity Park, huh?”

“ _A tragic accident,_ ” continued Umbridge, voice full of ice. 

“It was murder.” Harry was shaking. He felt like he was under a spotlight, and he wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about _this_. “Voldemort killed him, and you know it.”

For a second, Harry thought Umbridge would start screaming, but instead her lips curled up into a parody of a smile. “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

As Harry walked forward, Umbridge started scribbling on a small, pink, piece of paper, angled so that Harry couldn’t see what she was writing. Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Harry flinched. 

The… What were they even doing? Why were they sitting like that?

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Umbridge, holding out a roll of pink paper. 

Harry took it from her without a word, turned on his heel, threw open the door, and—

Was almost trampled by the Americans all escaping the room at once. 

Dash grabbed him by the upper arm, and soon all six of them were running down the hallway. It took several seconds for Umbridge to start shrieking, and, by that point, the Slytherin boy had pulled them all into a secret passage that someone who hadn’t been at Hogwarts for even a month shouldn’t know about. 

“Wow,” said Sam. “You work _fast,_ Danny.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, giving her a thumbs up. “Got to thank the Bloody Baron, though.” He paused. “Still can’t believe that’s his actual name…”

“Sorry about dragging you with us, by the way,” said the Slytherin girl. “I’m Paulina. This is Danny. You already know these three, I think?”

“Er,” said Harry, not at all sure how to deal with this situation. Part of him just wanted to shout. He was still vibrating with suppressed rage. 

“I didn’t really catch your name in all that, though,” she continued, gesturing behind them. 

“It’s Harry. Potter.”

It was… interesting, how his name didn’t spark any recognition in them. At least not at first. Then Danny stiffened and—

“The poltergeist is coming this way,” he said, mildly. 

“You can tell?” asked Paulina.

“I could always tell. Why do you think I was always in the bathroom when ghosts were around?”

Valerie scowled, and shot a truly venomous glare at her watch. 

“Do you think we can convince him to bug Umbridge?” asked Sam. 

Danny shot a look of surprise at her. Then he smiled. “Maybe,” he said. He turned back to Harry. “It was nice meeting you. I hope we can talk again sometime. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and, well…” He shrugged.

Harry suddenly remembered that the Americans were here, for the most part, because their families were dead.

“But you should probably track down Professor McGonagall sooner than later. I’d bet that Umbridge put a timer on that. If that’s possible. Is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, suddenly a hundred times more anxious about the paper clenched in his hand. 

“Gosh, imagine if Lancer could do that,” said Dash.

“I’d take Lancer any day,” said Danny. “He actually tried to teach stuff. Anyway, I’m going to go head off Peeves. You might want to go around. I hear he can be kind of a jerk?”

“Right,” said Harry, walking further down the secret passage, because he had been here for a proper length of time and had learned about it properly. 

… Although he supposed that asking the ghosts _was_ a proper way to go about learning the secret passages. 

No, he had to focus on how to explain getting kicked out of class to Professor McGonagall, not on the _weirdest_ interaction with Slytherins he’d had to date.


End file.
